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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22825999">Reunited at Last</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CozyCryptidCorner/pseuds/CozyCryptidCorner'>CozyCryptidCorner</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work, exophilia - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Just two lovely lesbians, Reunions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 12:48:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,528</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22825999</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CozyCryptidCorner/pseuds/CozyCryptidCorner</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Your wife is returning from the war, and you wait in trembling anticipation for her arrival.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Monster/Reader, Orc/Human, Orc/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>226</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Reunited at Last</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You see her before she sees you, her tall, stocky frame can be seen from the other half of the valley. Or maybe you <em>sense</em> her, from a bond that only be forged between two people wholly perfect for each other. Either way, you’re running out from the door like an arrow sprung from a bow, bare feet pounding against the soft, shimmering grass, racing, <em>rushing</em> until you meet her halfway. You have to jump to wrap your arms around her neck, she’s that tall, and you can barely see anything past the tears that fill your eyes as you sob like a wee babe, holding onto her for dear life.</p><p> </p><p>Úlfa holds you like you are the only things anchoring her to this world, though still careful not to crush you like a grape. You are, after all, only human, she has to regard you with an added delicateness that she wouldn’t show her peers. Still, she almost breaks a couple of your ribs, though you honestly don’t mind in the slightest.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s about goddamn time they let you come home!” You cry. “Did they think they could keep you from me forever?”</p><p> </p><p>“I told my commanding officer that you would march on the capital yourself if he didn’t give me leave,” she gives your back a firm, yet clearly restrained pat, “with nothing more than a pitchfork in hand. And that you would win.”</p><p> </p><p>“If it meant getting you back.” You sniff, settling back down, though you don’t allow Úlfa to slip from your grasp, not yet, and you stand on the tops of your toes to kiss her, once, twice, thrice. When you are satisfied that you have <em>marginally</em> made up for <em>last week’s </em>kisses that you’ve missed out on, you stop, still holding both her hands and give her a once-over. “You look like an absolute mess.”</p><p> </p><p>And you’re generous with that statement, too. Úlfa must have run half the way home on foot, her dark chestnut hair is all askew from her many, twisting braids, her clothing all in a ripped mess. Her leggings and shoes are the only things that aren’t in some kind of stage of disrepair, though it’s probably because she’s rather skilled in the art of leathermaking, that is, after all, her family’s craft. Still, there are a great many things you plan on doing to give her a well-deserving pampering.</p><p> </p><p>“Perhaps we should move this inside?” You ask, wrapping your arms around her chest and giving her your best, most sultry of smiles.</p><p> </p><p>Úlfa should learn by now that when you look at her like that, you intend to draw a bath to help clean her off in, but she never does. You’ve already prepared it, first thing in the morning, continuously reboiling a few pots of water to keep it hot. Even though it’s almost more heated than what you can stand, she declares it perfect, settling her neck on the rim, letting out a gentle sigh of satisfaction.</p><p> </p><p>“Did they not give you baths in the army?” You ask, taking on the task of undoing the knotted mess atop her head.</p><p> </p><p>She laughs dryly, leaning her head against your legs. “Too little water to go around, dove.”</p><p> </p><p>You wrinkle your nose, running your fingers against her scalp. With a small pick, you begin to detangle the strands, moving slowly from one end of her head to the other, untying the strips of leather holding her braids in place, and pulling out the pins that kept everything else away from her face. Once you can run a brush through her hair without it snagging, you begin to wash it. Her hair is rather long for a soldier, but you actually enjoy taking the time to adequately care for it, there’s something rather soothing about gently pampering your wife.</p><p> </p><p>Three egg yolks sit in a bowl, ready for you to work into her hair. Carefully, you rub in some diluted lye; first, your fingers gently massaging the more greasy areas and then having her submerge her head into the water to rinse it off. Then you start with the yolks, careful to spread them over evenly through her hair, washing it out with lavender and chamomile tea. The smell of the war fades as Úlfa gets clean, you can see the relief on her face as you open some sweet-smelling oils.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you save any beautiful maidens while you were out?” You ask, trying to bring forth any good memories that she might have made, hoping to put the worse ones away for now.</p><p> </p><p>“None as fair and precocious as you.”</p><p> </p><p>The response fills you with a sweet warmth. “What about beautiful gentlemen?”</p><p> </p><p>At that, Úlfa lets out a little laugh, and you know that she has a story for you. “A young lord got caught up in the middle of battle, I had to make my way across the woods to rescue him.”</p><p> </p><p>“How old was this lord?” You snort.</p><p> </p><p>“Barely a day over sixteen, couldn’t hold a sword to save his life. He decided, quite stupidly, to dip his toes into battle, going against his adviser’s wishes.” You can feel her eyes rolling as you part her hair. “A bright idea that was. Lad almost got himself killed four times over, and still came out with the hubris of a small god.”</p><p> </p><p>You giggle, “not even the slightest bit of remorse?”</p><p> </p><p>“None!” She almost shakes her head, but stays still for your work. “You might think that would put some sort of fear of death in him, yet he is as ready to fight the next battle as he was in that one. Perhaps it’s because he didn’t see… well, he has yet to see death.”</p><p> </p><p>You pause, getting a towel to dry her hair off, and ask softly, “would you like to talk about it?”</p><p> </p><p>Úlfa thinks it over, only briefly, then shakes her head. “I think that I would like to be distracted, for now.”</p><p> </p><p>“Alright,” you say, quickly trying to find a way to get her mind off things. “Um… the neighbors are bringing in some cattle.”</p><p> </p><p>She let out a frustrated moan. “I better not <em>smell</em> them.”</p><p> </p><p>“They’re going to be kept on the far side of the property,” you reassure her, “but whenever they slaughter one of their cows, I might be able to haggle for some very fresh meat with the vegetables from the garden.”</p><p> </p><p><em>That</em> seems to please her, considerably, because if there’s something that Úlfa enjoys, it’s a good, juicy fresh steak. After a moment of thought, she lets out a sigh of contentment. “Speaking of which, dove, how is your garden coming along?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve been fighting with some of the potatoes,” you say, letting out a sigh, “they just don’t seem to <em>want</em> to grow. Oh, but the strawberries turned out really lovely this year, I was able to trade a half pound for some perfectly lovely fabric. I wanted to make a new dress, the one I have now is more patches than anything else.”</p><p> </p><p>“I have a nice payout from my time in the army,” Úlfa says, “so you’re going to get enough fabric for a second dress.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aww, Úlfie, you don’t <em>have</em> to-”</p><p> </p><p>“Let me spoil you,” Úlfa requests, her voice gruff and filled with emotion, “I haven’t seen you in what <em>felt</em> like forever. Every day I would see you, in the flowers, in the sky, and in the shops I would pass if I were assigned to a city. Every single item I knew you would like was like a pinch, always tugging at my heart, and even though I <em>wanted</em> to get them, I couldn’t haul an entire shop around on my shoulders. So I told myself that I would shower you with as many gifts as I could the moment I stepped foot back home.”</p><p> </p><p>You are very, very close to weeping, but you know that if you start<em>now,</em> she might shed a few tears, too, and then the both of you will spend the rest of the day in a sobbing mess. With your voice warbling only slightly, you say, “alright. If- if that’s what you really want.”</p><p> </p><p>“It is,” she confirms, reaching over for the towel to dry her body off.</p><p> </p><p>As she does so, you check the time, looking out the window for the position of the sun, it’s almost evening. Brushing your dress from any invisible wrinkles, you let out a little, disappointed sigh, puckering your lips in a forlorn pout. Úlfa notices quickly as she wraps a belt around her waist, concern flashing over her face.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s wrong, dove?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” you start, rubbing your arms, “I was so terribly excited for your return today, I had completely forgotten to start dinner or anything. Anything I begin now will take a few hours, and I’m sure you’re famished, so I’m-”</p><p> </p><p>“We’ll go to the tavern.” Úlfa’s tone is absolute, with leaving you no room to wriggle out of it. “We deserve a nice, relaxed meal, <em>both</em> of us.”</p><p> </p><p>“That sounds lovely, are you sure?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course. Shall we go now?”</p><p> </p><p>You let out a sigh of relief, nodding as you fetch your shawl. The air has a particular, misty taste to it as you leave the cabin, the sky slowly bleeding from blue to violet, a soft, gentle gradient that fills your soul with peace. You have both your arms tucked around Úlfa’s bicep, leaning against her as you walk, a warm, satisfied feeling gently pulsing through your blood. There must be a way to bottle up these emotions, some sort of method to store a bit for later, because the moment Úlfa gets called back to some foreign skirmish, you’d like to have this feeling handy for those nights you get lonely.</p><p> </p><p>The town is just up ahead, you can see the pinpricks of light in the near distance. You almost turn around, pulling Úlfa along back to the cabin, because you’re not so sure you want to share her quite yet, but you keep that desire unvoiced and tampered down as the both of you meander onto a cobblestone street. The tavern is near the central square, the shops leading up to it closing as the sun disappears from the sky, but you and Úlfa take some time meandering, looking through the windows in fascination.</p><p> </p><p>One of your friends is trying to slink into the tavern, and you feel a spike of panic. Remaining completely nonchalant, you point to the dress in the nearest window, and say, “isn’t that fabric nice?”</p><p> </p><p>Úlfa turns just as your friend would have entered her vision, looking through the glass, her brow pinched in thought. “Do you really think so?”</p><p> </p><p>You can already see her mentally calculating the price of buying a couple dozen yards, so you’re quick to say, “well, in a sort of homely way, not in a <em>my</em> style kind of way. Oh, look at that, we’re here!”</p><p> </p><p>In a rush to hurry, you bounce up the few stairs to the entrance of the tavern, looking back at Úlfa with one of your <em>most</em> sweetest smiles. She barely has half a second to realize that you’re up to something, and she <em>does,</em> she’s well used to your little tricks by now, but it’s too late because you’re opening the door, revealing a group of friends that had been waiting. In unison, as practiced, they all shout a resounding, hearty, “WELCOME HOME!”</p><p> </p><p>She’s almost <em>blown away,</em> smiling a broad, toothy grin, which is the exact reaction that you’re looking for. You were almost worried that she might find the whole celebration overwhelming after such a day, but it seems like your gentle pampering did the trick to unwind her enough for some socializing. And she <em>laughs,</em> too, placing a soft hand on your shoulder as she looks over the guests you secretly invited.</p><p> </p><p>“What a surprise, you sneaky little thing,” she says, “I didn’t even suspect something was up.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” you say proudly, “I’m just that good, hm?”</p><p> </p><p>With her usual stoic movement, Úlfa walks over to one of her dearest orc friends, patting him on the back with such force it would probably break your spine if she did that to you. Everyone gushes over her as you slip back into the kitchen to make sure the dinner is being prepared smoothly, checking in on the cooks and tasting the soup and bread for the first course. Since it seems to be going alright (and the chef has just about <em>had</em> it with your presence), you go back to the dining area, joining in on the celebration.</p><p> </p><p>A beer keg has to be replaced quickly, so you have another barrel rotated in, keeping people’s cups full, the drinking tapering off when the breads and soups are finally brought out. You had no reason to worry over the food, like, at all, because it’s absolutely <em>delicious,</em> you’ve already decided to harass the chef into giving you the recipe. You sit at Úlfa’s side, letting her pick at your plate as you tell some wild story about how the two of you met.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not a well-known story, but it’s a funny one, so people listen in, pausing to laugh raucously as you manage to make everything seem far more dramatic than it actually was. Even Úlfa finds your imitation of that one drunk old man who seemed to think that tugging at your skirt was a good idea rather humorous. Once you’re finished, someone else raises their voice, offering their own story of an interaction with Úlfa, most of them somewhat hilarious, others just soft and heartwarming. The main course comes out, and someone raises their glass in a toast.</p><p> </p><p>Everyone has something to say, and you save your own toast for last. It is, after all, the best.</p><p> </p><p>“Úlfa and I often argue who has the best wife,” you say, placing a hand on your heart, “but I’m here today to settle the dispute once and for all. Úlfa,” you turn to her, “I’m so very sorry to inform you that you are wrong, because <em>I</em> have the best wife, not you. Don’t even try arguing with me, I <em>see you</em> about to say something, but today I bring with me some facts. Fact number one: I have the better wife because I say so. Fact the second: You have stood by me through the happiest times and through the worst of times. We have gone for almost a year without seeing each other, and yet the love, the adoration, the closeness that we felt from day one, is still felt today. Meeting my soulmate, settling with my soulmate, and being able to stay with my soulmate through troubles and <em>wars,</em> and yet here we are, together.”</p><p> </p><p>She’s smiling, that soft, sweet smile she always has when she’s looking at you, so full of love, so proud of you, and you feel your chest swell.</p><p> </p><p>“I love you, Úlfa, with every fiber of my being.”</p><p> </p><p>“I love you, too, dove.” She places a hand over yours, and once again, “I love you, too.”</p>
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